


Plan Z: Murder Music From Space

by PrairieChzHead (msannomalley)



Category: Battle of the Planets (Cartoon)
Genre: Nose Cola, episode rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27623831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msannomalley/pseuds/PrairieChzHead
Summary: This is a rewrite/retelling of the Gatchaman/BoTP episodes “Murder Music” and “Space Rock Concert”, based upon the premise that Plan A fell through, along with plans B through Y.  Rewrite is using the term loosely.  The reason why I ended up using both versions is because I have seen both episodes so many times, they tend to run together in my head. I set this story in the BoTP universe, because this story is silly and the silliness works better in that realm.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Plan Z: Murder Music From Space

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite/retelling of the Gatchaman/BoTP episodes “Murder Music” and “Space Rock Concert”, based upon the premise that Plan A fell through, along with plans B through Y. Rewrite is using the term loosely. The reason why I ended up using both versions is because I have seen both episodes so many times, they tend to run together in my head. I set this story in the BoTP universe, because this story is silly and the silliness works better in that realm.

Zoltar always hurried when the Luminous One summoned him. The Great Spirit valued punctuality in his subordinates. No amount of groveling on Zoltar’s part would ease the Luminous One’s irritation. This value on promptness; however, didn’t stop the Spirit from being late.

When the Great Spirit finally appeared before Zoltar, it was…humming?

“Doo-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-doooooooooo…”

 _What has gotten into the Luminous One?_ Zoltar was puzzled. He had to admit that the little tune was rather catchy. Still, it was not like The Luminous One to hum. Or sing. Or laugh, unless it was an evil laugh.

“How may I serve you, Oh Great Light of Wisdom?” Zoltar groveled to the giant, blue, bird-like apparition. Groveling was the Spectran leader’s go-to move to make sure he was always on the Luminous One’s good side.

“I have finally perfected my song.”

 _Song?_ Aloud, he said, “That’s wonderful news, Oh Luminous One.” _What song?_

“My masterpiece. My magnum opus.”

“You wrote a song?” Zoltar asked, surprised.

“Yes, Zoltar,” the Luminous One replied. “It’s a rather murderous piece of music. Now I just need a band to perform it.”

“The Galactachella Music Festival is coming up soon,” the Luminous One continued. “The perfect band to perform my perfect song will be playing there.”

“And which band would that be, Oh Wisest of Spirits?”

“The Dirty Name Five.”

“Who?” Zoltar didn’t pay much attention to Earth pop culture. When he wanted to relax, he preferred to chill out with a bottle of the finest vintage he could get his hands on and the music of the Great Masters. Earth wine and classical composers, of course. Spectran wine smelled like sulfur and tasted like acetone. Spectra had no classical composers. Unless you counted the sad attempts at music by one of Zoltar’s ancestors who decided to drop out of society and devote his life to mastering the recorder (which he didn’t).

“They are the most popular band in the galaxy,” The Luminous One said in a tone that indicated that Zoltar should have known this. “They will draw a lot of people to this festival. Your mission is to kidnap the band from the Galactachella Festival and bring them to our hidden base in the Andes.”

Mondays was the slowest day at Jill’s Place. Princess was grateful for one slow day at the cafe in which she worked. Ever since Jill decided to hold karaoke night, business was booming. Karaoke was so popular at the club, it was now held every other Saturday night in addition to every Friday night. The non-karaoke Saturdays were still devoted to local, live bands.

Princess rinsed out her cloth and wrung out the excess water. She glanced up at the television, which was currently set on a channel showing one of those shallow gossip shows that tried to convince the audience they were doing “serious entertainment journalism”. The two hosts were the very stereotype of the too much Botox, too-white teeth, too-phony showbiz type. At least the blonde woman’s hair extensions looked almost natural. If Princess were alone, she would have turned the channel onto something else. But she wasn’t and the customers liked this particular show. Princess cynically believed the clientele’s interest in this program had a lot to do with the female host, whom she silently nicknamed Ditzy McAirhead, and her tendency to wear low-cut tops and short skirts. Ditzy’s co-host was no better. He was a middle-aged man who was constantly undressing Ditzy with his eyes on the air. Princess had silently christened him Skeevy McDouchebag.

Princess lived with her foster brother and teammate, Keyop, in the apartment above Jill’s Place. Jill’s was an actual business which was also a front. Jill worked for the Galaxy Security Division of the International Science Organization and she knew that Princess and Keyop were members of G-Force. That was why it was so easy for the two of them to leave whenever duty called. While Jill’s Place was open to the public, it was also a place for Gal-Sec or ISO agents to make contact with other operatives.

“Breaking news,” Ditzy announced, her voice dripping with faux-concern. Princess was about to tune her out, when the graphic on the television caught her attention.

Ditzy continued. “The popular rock band, The Dirty Name 5, announced today that they will be pulling out of the upcoming Galactachella festival.” She cast a worried look at Skeevy McDouchebag, who was clearly entranced with the sight of Ditzy’s ample breasts threatening to burst forth from her too-tight top.

“That’s right,” Skeevy said. “According to the band’s manager, Sven Galley, the band are withdrawing due to a scheduling conflict.”

Then Ditzy looked conspiratorially at the camera. “Our sources are telling us that Dirty Name 5’s lead singer, Notjan Isjoplin, has entered ‘rehab’. We have people working on this breaking story and we will bring you the latest as soon as we know more information.”

Princess sighed. She had her heart set on trying to get tickets to the Galactachella Music and Arts Festival. The music festival was held on different planets each year and this was Earth’s year to host it. In addition to numerous and diverse musical acts from around the galaxy, the festival showcased the works from artists all over the Milky Way. In recent years, the festival had “sold out”, according to Jason. “It was better before all the idle rich decided to hang out there,” he’d said with disdain. 

Yes, tickets were expensive, but Princess was still determined to get her hands on some. The Dirty Name 5 had been on hiatus and the Galactachella show would be the band’s only live show this year.

“Hey, Prin,” Jill said, breaking into her thoughts. “What’s wrong?”

Princess shrugged. “The Dirty Name Five pulled out of Galactachella,” she said sadly. “I won’t get the chance to see them this year.”

“You actually got tickets?” Jill was incredulous.

Princess shook her head. “No,” she said. “But it’s not for a lack of trying. I guess I don’t have to try so hard anymore.”

Zoltar was in his chambers, chilling out with the best Pinot Noir he could get his hands on and Antonin Dvorak’s _Symphony No. 9_ streaming, when he heard the news.

“Lord Zoltar!” It was Commander Besharp, an androgynous, elven-like creature who looked like the spawn of Peter Pan and Satan. Commander Besharp was dressed in a green-satiny jacket covered in all kinds of musical symbols. Besharp was truly evil, which was why Zoltar hadn’t gotten rid of him yet. Besharp’s manner of moving around did get on Zoltar’s nerves. Zoltar decided it was worth tolerating all the mincing and the flourishes in order to have access to Besharp’s subtle and insidious brand of evil. Besharp was the perfect person to put in charge of Operation: Murder Music.

“What is it?” Zoltar asked.

“Sire, there’s a problem.”

“What kind of problem?”

“Sire, _Operation_ : _Murder Music_ has hit a snag.”

Zoltar was growing annoyed. “What, specifically, Besharp, do you mean by ‘snag’?”

Commander Besharp swallowed slowly. “Well, Sire, the Dirty Name Five canceled their appearance at the Galactachella Festival.”

This was certainly unwelcome news. The Luminous One specifically wanted this particular band to perform his musical composition. Zoltar pursed his lips together for a moment. Then he said, “I will brief the Luminous One on this rather unfortunate turn of events.”

“Shall we put the mission on hold, Sire?”

“No,” Zoltar replied. “I will tell the Great Spirit that we have already begun searching for another musical group who will fulfill the Luminous One’s plan.”

With that, Commander Besharp saluted Zoltar with a flourish and then minced his way out of his master’s chambers.

Zoltar was not looking forward to his upcoming meeting. To say that the Luminous One would not be happy was a gross understatement.

He grabbed the bottle of wine and took a long swallow straight from the bottle.

No matter what reason Princess came up with, it did little to ease the disappointment she felt over the news that the Dirty Name Five was not going to play at Galactachella. 

Jill’s only patrons that night were the other members of G-Force. It was Jason who noticed Princess’s dejected expression. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said. She decided it was silly to mope over a concert she never had tickets for to begin with.

“It’s not _nothing_ ,” Jason said. He’d always been good at teasing out whatever it was that was on Princess’s mind.

Princess sighed. “You’ll think it’s stupid if I tell you,” she said.

“When have I ever thought that anything bothering you was stupid?”

Princess paused. Then she told him the news she’d heard earlier today.

“I know it’s dumb to be disappointed by something I never actually had,” she finished. “But I can’t help it.”

Jason could relate. He’d experienced the same sort of disappointment in the past. However, his disappointments usually did not directly involve a rock band.

“More coffee?” Princess asked when she noticed his cup was low. Jason nodded and pushed the cup towards her. When she returned with the full mug, she noticed he’d laid some money on the counter.

“You know,” he said, taking a sip. “It’s probably just as well that this didn’t pan out.”

“Why is that?” she asked.

“Do you think that the Chief would let you go off to the desert for three days on your own?”

That gave her pause. Jason had a point. She wasn’t ready to concede, however.

“I would have asked you or Mark to go with me,” she said.

“And we’re still on duty,” Jason pointed out. “Chief Anderson would make you bring _all_ of us along.” He stressed the word “all”. Princess caught on right away.

“I don’t know if the Chief would be willing to shell out the money for passes so the rest of us could go with you,” Jason said. “Then there’s the fact that you’d end up spending the three days of the festival making sure Keyop stayed out of trouble. You know the kid gets when he and Tiny get together.”

The last thing Princess wanted to do was to spend a weekend of fun and music making sure that Tiny and Keyop stayed out of trouble. Then there was the fact that, when the team hung out as a group, Mark seemed to be oblivious to her very existence, much to her chagrin.

“You’re right,” Princess said. “I guess I had this experience planned out in my head before the fact.” Then she smiled. “Thanks, Jason. You always know how to cheer me up.”

“No problem,” he said. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

Princess’s disappointment was forgotten over the next few days when Jill announced that she was going to open up karaoke on Wednesday evenings as a way to drum up business during the week. Princess wasn’t exactly thrilled to hear this, but on the other hand, more business meant she earned more in tips.

Jill’s regular host wasn’t available on Wednesday night. She found another person to host the midweek karaoke nights. Princess thought he was a strange creature. He billed himself as “Mr. Bobby Natural”. Mr. Natural told Jill that the spirit of music was in every person and it was his job, as emcee, to help her customers get in touch with their inner musical selves. He was a force, which was for sure. Bobby Natural stood out in his satiny, mint green jacket which was covered in music notes.

“We’re the renegades of FUNK!” a rhythmically challenged man in a polo and khakis belted out from the stage. Bobby Natural looked on approvingly.

Princess sighed. It was going to be a long shift.

One of the things that most people didn’t know about Jason was that he was kind of a music nerd. Most people assumed his taste in music was limited to hard rock. Well, he did like rock music, but in reality, he didn’t mind other types of music. Except for country. He drew the line at country music. He especially despised “bro-country”. No, he didn’t gush over bands in the same way Princess did, but he appreciated good music when he heard it.

However, what he was hearing on this Wednesday evening, could neither be called “good” nor “music”. 

“She’s just a devil woman, with evil on her mi-ind,” sang the hipster who was on stage.

Hipsters. Jason didn’t care for them, either. They were just as bad as those redneck frat boy types who listened to bro-country.

“Another drink?” Princess said when she came to check on him. He couldn’t get a spot at the bar, so he settled for the corner booth. He was currently alone. Mark was stuck in a meeting with Chief Anderson and Tiny was on a date.

“Sure,” Jason said. Princess took the glass and bottle and quickly returned with fresh ones.

“Thanks,” Jason said. “Hey, Prin.”

“What is it?” she said. She had to lean in to be heard over the din.

“Where’d Jill find that guy?” Jason jerked his thumb in the direction of Bobby Natural.

“I have no idea. I think it was more that he came to her,” Princess said. “The customers like him, though. That’s all that matters.” She glanced towards another table. “Sorry, Jase,” she said. “I gotta go check on the customers.” Her tone indicated that she’d rather stay and continue their conversation.

Jason wanted to leave, but he felt oddly compelled to stay and see this musical dumpster fire come to its natural conclusion. The Wednesday crowd was different than the Friday crowds. This was apparent when a tipsy woman wearing business casual took to the stage and began to sing, stiffly attempting to twerk.

“ _Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir? Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?”_

The musical dumpster fire won. Jason ordered another beer and decided that he would convince Princess to let him crash on her couch in exchange for testing the threshold of his cerebonic implant’s ability to filter out alcohol.

Wednesday karaoke was such a hit that Jill had to schedule extra people to work on that day of the week. Word soon spread around town that Jill’s was the place to be on Wednesday nights. Business was so good, that Jill could afford to close her place on Mondays.

While it was good for Princess and Keyop to have the extra night off, Mark missed the quieter evenings at the joint. It was those nights where he could actually hold a conversation with someone else and not have to shout over someone else butchering popular music.

Spectra had been quiet lately. In fact, they’d been too quiet. Their lack of activity had not gone unnoticed by Galaxy Security. Chief Anderson kept Mark briefed, but the G-Force Commander was still uneasy. Whenever Spectra was quiet for a period of time, the attack that followed was huge.

Chief Anderson summoned Mark to his office down in Center Neptune. Mark noticed that Anderson looked troubled.

“I don’t understand what happened,” he said to Mark. “Intelligence had credible reports that Spectra was building some kind of air craft that had the capabilities of broadcasting sound over a large radius. Yet nothing has come to fruition.”

“Maybe their plan hit a snag and they’re regrouping,” Mark said.

“I hope that’s the case,” the chief replied. “Even so, it’s still best to be on our guard. I’m still concerned that Intelligence hasn’t reported a ‘plan B’.”

It troubled Mark, too. 

After the Chief dismissed him, he went down into the Phoenix’s bay and he was able to detach his plane from its landing spot. Maintenance on his jet was one of the go-to things Mark did when he needed to think.

Mark had transmuted before he entered the bay because there were civilians present. Whenever he was in full Birdstyle, the other people who worked at Center Neptune were always deferential to him. It bothered him a bit. Most of the people who were in the hangar had no idea the real identities of G-Force. Whenever Mark wanted to work on his jet in their presence, he would transmute before he separated the jet from the main ship. Then he would leave, detransmute, and then come back in his civvies to tinker with his plane as Chief Anderson’s foster son, who also worked for Galaxy Security, but wanted no special favors.

Mark waited a half an hour before returning to the bay in his civilian clothes. The hangar bustled with activity. Someone had brought music. As he began inspecting his plane, he heard one of the other workers begin to sing along with the song currently playing.

“Hey, Frankie,” someone shouted. “You should try out for Galaxy Idol!”

“Naw,” another person shouted back. “He’s too old.”

“Too old, my ass!” Frankie shouted back.

“How about _The Minstrel_ or _The Milky Way’s Got Talent?_ ”

“Frankie’s certainly weird enough for MWGT,” one of the engineers joked.

Mark tuned out their banter and focused on his inspection. As he worked, he thought about his meeting with the Chief. He tried to think of plausible reasons for Spectra’s silence as of late, but after he turned them over and worked them through his mind, he was just as confused as he was before. He made himself stop thinking about it and decided to just focus on his plane.

When his thoughts settled down, Mark found himself working in a pleasant rhythm. Absentmindedly, he began whistling a song he’d heard during last Friday’s karaoke at Jill’s place.

Chief Anderson decided to take pre-emptive action of sorts. He ordered G-Force to assemble and then sent them out to patrol Earth for any signs of suspicious activity. Normally, he relied on 7-Zark-7 to keep him abreast of any suspicious activity, but the robot coordinator had been silent. Chief Anderson supposed he should have someone check up on them, but he didn’t want to go down to Zark’s control room. He only tolerated the neurotic hunk of metal because President Kane insisted that Galaxy Security use robot coordinators. Chief Anderson suspected that someone at Quanto Tobor Labs knew someone who knew President Kane, or at least the person in Kane’s cabinet who awarded defense contracts. The chief made a mental note to have someone else check on Zark, but as often happens to a man who is as busy and is under as much stress as Chief Anderson, the mental note got lost among more pressing matters. Like last night’s season finale of _Crab Nebula’s Most Eligible Bachelor._ He still couldn’t believe that skanky Rigan girl Shula got a cosmic rose.

Aboard the Phoenix, the team watched their monitors carefully as Tiny piloted the ship over the Pacific Ocean. Jason complained about the dullness of patrolling as usual. The team thought that patrols were dull, but Jason was the only one who actually said it out loud.

The cockpit was quiet, except for the usual humming and beeping of the on-board equipment. Tiny began to hum along to the song stuck in his head. It was a pleasant little tune he’d been hearing more often lately. He couldn’t be sure where he’d first heard it. Perhaps at Jill’s during karaoke? Or maybe he saw it on You Tube?

Or did he hear it in a TV commercial?

It didn’t matter where he’d first heard the song or that it’s bouncy melody was stuck in his head. There were far worse things that could be happening right now than having a song stuck in your head.

“I’m growing impatient, Zoltar,” the Great Spirit said to the Spectran leader.

Zoltar was also growing impatient, but he couldn’t let on to the Luminous One that he felt the same way. Zoltar was beginning to second-guess his decision to put all of his eggs into one evil basket. Patience wasn’t exactly one of Zoltar’s virtues, especially patience with his own underlings, but he resisted giving into his own impatience on this matter.

“I understand, Great Light of Wisdom,” Zoltar said. “I have assurances that everything is going according to plan.”

“Assurances aren’t enough, Zoltar. I want results.”

Zoltar momentarily panicked. He was running out of excuses to give to the Luminous One. He also couldn’t let on that he was just as much in the dark on this as was the Great Spirit.

“And you shall have them, Illustrious One,” Zoltar replied.

“I’d better,” the Great Spirit said. “Don’t fail me again, Zoltar.”

The patrol turned up nothing and G-Force headed back to Center Neptune. After debriefing, the team went to the mainland and to Jill’s. It was Wednesday and karaoke night was going full blast. Princess was about to head to the back to clock in, but Jill stopped her.

“I’m covered,” she said. “But thanks for offering to help. Sit back and enjoy yourself for once.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll just head upstairs.”

A half an hour later, Princess regretted her decision. Between one person murdering The Beatles and another committing aural atrocities on Led Zeppelin that probably violated several tenants of the Geneva Convention, Princess couldn’t relax. She decided to go back downstairs. She spied Jason and Tiny in the corner booth, both with beers in front of them.

“Hey,” Tiny said when she announced herself. “Come join us.”

“Misery loves company,” Jason added. “Plus the more the merrier.”

“Sure,” she agreed and she slid into the booth in the space Tiny made for her.

Karaoke night was worse than she thought.

“How do you stand this?” she wondered.

“Alcohol,” Jason said. “And a perverse fascination with train wrecks.” 

Their attention was diverted by the current singer, a man who bore a strong resemblance to Milton Waddams. He was performing the vocal equivalent of bludgeoning someone with a pick axe on the old Loverboy standard “Working for the Weekend.”

Princess suddenly raised her hand to hail the server on duty. “Jack and Coke,” she told the server. “Heavy on the Jack.”

It was going to be an even longer evening.

“Lord Zoltar! We’re ready to proceed to Phase 2!” Commander Besharp minced into Zoltar’s chambers gleefully.

Zoltar was momentarily panicked. _What was Phase 2?_ Phase 1 had taken so long, he’d forgotten what the next phase of this plan was.

“Sire?” Commander Besharp asked, waving his hand in a concerned flourish. “Phase 2?”

 _Looks like you’re going to have to bullshit your way out of this one, Zoltar._ “Yes, yes,” the Spectran Leader said quickly. “Have the preparations been completed?”

“Yes, sire,” the commander said. “I will add the new song to the karaoke line up.”

Three days later, something weird happened in Center City. Well, weird things always happened in Center City, but this was a special level of weird. At around 10:45 am, someone or something took control of the airwaves and began to play music.

That wasn’t the weird part.

Then anyone within earshot froze and then lined up and began taking to the street in unison as if they were a bunch of extras in a bad sci fi movie.

That was weird. But it got weirder.

All of these marching automatons began to sing the same song. 

In unison.

As they began looting and rioting and causing general mayhem and chaos.

Then it got weirder.

The song they were all singing was so cheerful and bouncy and poppy and not at all appropriate for rioting, looting, and general mayhem. G-Force and Chief Anderson watched this theater of the absurd unfold on the monitor.

“I knew I always hated that song,” Jason muttered.

Chief Anderson ignored him. “Preliminary reports suggest mostly damage to property.”

“Casualties?” Mark asked.

“None reported,” the Chief said. “Intel have traced the source of the…um…song to a radio station in Center City.”

Mark looked to be in thought. “Could this be the work of hackers?”

“It could be,” Chief Anderson said. “Or Spectra. We don’t know exactly.”

Jason spoke up. “You don’t know? Did Zark neglect to tell you?” He wouldn’t bother to hide the sarcasm in his voice. Everyone knew how Jason felt about that robot.

“You know, come to think of it, I haven’t heard anything from Zark on this.” Anderson hoped the frown he was putting on for show would hide the fact he was secretly happy to not have to deal with that robot. 

“G-Force, your mission is to find and then destroy the source of that sound.”

“G-Force!” They saluted and then left for the Phoenix

*

Mark secretly hated post-mission debriefings. After everything that went on, he wanted to beg off and make Jason take this one. Unfortunately for Mark, Jason’s eye was still twitching violently and his second had to be taken to the hospital ward “for his own protection”.

_All of this over one stupid song._

The source of the sound was a radio station in the middle of town, which meant that blowing up the building was out of the question. It wasn’t worth all the destruction and the loss of innocent lives to eradicate an ear worm.

Except that didn’t stop Jason from shooting a well-placed missile at the source of the sound.

There was a few moments of blessed silence, and then Spectra’s Worm mech showed up.

Because Tiny could not stop laughing at the sight of Spectra’s Petrifying Cosmo-Snake (which is what ISO called it, even though it was really a worm that had ears. Large ears. It also didn’t actually petrify anything.), Mark ordered Princess to take over piloting duties while he tried to keep Jason from firing more missiles in his current state.

The Petrifying Cosmo-Snake/Earworm Mech began to play _that_ song. Mark noticed that Jason looked as if he were about to pop a blood vessel. The G-Force Commander was caught between fighting the mech and the well-being of his crew. All seemed hopeless.

That is, until Keyop, who had been quiet up until this moment, came back with one of those old-school cassette tapes where someone had written the words “Guilty Pleasure Songs Vol. 1” on the label. He inserted the tape into a tape deck that conveniently appeared on his console, after pushing a few buttons, the nose on the Phoenix retracted.

“Cover your ears,” Keyop chirped before the first notes of the band Creed thundered from the external speakers.

The Earworm mech/Snake didn’t like it. But Creed was not enough to weaken it. Nope. It was going to take the big guns to make this stop. 

As soon as the Spectrans heard the first strains of that Nickelback song, they began a hasty retreat. G-Force followed them until the sounds were too much and the mech exploded.

Everything was right again.

Well, most everything. Mark was nervous that an inquiry would be launched because the contents of that mix tape probably violated the ethical rules of Warfare and some obscure clause in the Geneva Convention.

He finished up his report and hit “submit”. Then he went down to the Ready Room. The others, except Jason, were present.

“He’s still in the hospital ward,” Princess explained. “They had to give him an anti-psychotic to make the twitching stop.”

“What brought all that on anyway?” Mark wondered.

“That song the Spectrans used to brainwash people,” Princess said. “Something about the soundwaves interfering with something in Jason’s cerebonics.”

“Or,” Tiny interjected. “It was just a crap song.”

“Speaking of crap songs,” Princess said, turning to Keyop. “Where did you find that mix-tape?”

“Zark’s,” Keyop stuttered. “Found it in his ready room.”

“And what were you doing in his ready room?” Princess demanded.

“Spying,” Keyop said. “Zark talks to Susan a lot.” Then Keyop asked, “What does ‘swipe left on my touch-sensitive FOSDIC’ mean?”

“NEVER MIND,” Mark, Princess and Tiny shouted all at once.

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> I chose the particular “earworm” because, well, when you really think about it, it’s pure evil to take an innocuous, catchy song that has earworm written all over it and use it for nefarious purposes. For the record, I don’t think this is a bad song at all. It just has a tendency to get stuck in my head for long periods of time after I happen to hear it.
> 
> Commander Besharp is based upon the character of Mr. B Natural, of _Mystery Science Theater 3000_ fame. 
> 
> Karaoke songs quoted in this story are:  
> "Renegades of Funk" by Rage Against the Machine  
> "Devil Woman" by Cliff Richard  
> "Lady Marmalade" by LaBelle


End file.
